Respawn

1. Remi

one

Remi

The thing about Dead by Daylight is that it rewards patience, and the thing about me is that I have absolutely none.

Which definitely explains why I’ve been running in circles for the last four minutes screaming internally while a Trapper with the spatial awareness of a golden retriever somehow keeps cutting me off at every exit.

My headset is on, my mic is live, and approximately six hundred and forty-two people are watching me make objectively terrible decisions in real time.

"Okay,” I say, mostly to myself, a little to the chat. “Okay. New plan.”

The chat explodes as NewPlan666 has entered the building as a username and I laugh despite myself, loudly enough that it catches and I hear it back through my own monitor like proof that at least one thing tonight is going right.

This is my third hour streaming, and I should probably wrap it up.

My eyes are burning and the screen starts to look like it’s breathing, which I’m not sure if it’s from eye strain or the fact that I haven’t had a single thing to eat since the granola bar at noon.

Either way, that’s a me problem and I’ll deal with it after this match.

My setup glows around me in the dark with purple, blue and pink LEDs bleeding across the walls. The GoXLR mixer lit up to my left like a tiny spaceship, dual monitors throwing light across my face while the Trapper corners me for the fourth time in a row.

Which, okay, the house. Yeah, so that’s still a thing I’m getting used to saying.

Like it’s just totally normal to live somewhere with three floors, a kitchen with an island and a guest bathroom that has heated floors.

I said it, heated floors. I didn’t know that was something that regular people could have.

I grew up in a two-bedroom apartment where my mom and I had a whole system for which burners on the stove were reliable and which ones could possibly burn the place down.

Now, I live somewhere with a third floor I’ve claimed so damn thoroughly, it might as well have my name on the door.

Richard is responsible for all of this. He met my mom at a work conference three years ago and she came home that night looking like a weight had been lifted off her shoulders.

I spent about a year after that waiting for the catch because men who have houses like this don’t typically fall for single moms from the east side that work two jobs without some kind of angle.

Except his angle is that he actually loves her.

He refills her coffee before she asks, remembers the name of her coworker she mentioned once in passing three months ago, and notices every little thing about her like loving her was never something he had to try to do.

It’s frankly a little annoying how good he is, and I say that as someone who spent a long time being suspicious of him on principle.

My mom only works one job now. One. She actually sleeps through the night and I’m not mad about any of it. I’m still getting used to a life where the answer to most problems isn’t “we can’t afford that right now.”

Now here I am, with the third floor of his house basically to myself and my cozy little gaming set up I built myself. Although, the six hundred and forty-two people are still watching me get absolutely cooked by a Trapper right now.

”Chat, if you say ‘just run to the exit’ one more time I will find every single one of you,” I say.

I bite down on a grin because this is the part that I love. This back and forth, the way they know me and how we’ve built this weird little world together through a screen.

DeadGirlAFK has been my handle since I was sixteen and it started as a joke about how often I used to go AFK mid-match to get snacks. Now it’s a whole brand with a Twitch, YouTube and a setup that probably costs more than some people’s cars, all of it funded by my own work.

Richard offered to buy me equipment when we moved in and I said no. Not because I’m ungrateful, and not because I wanted to make a point, but because this setup means something when I paid for it myself, and I wasn’t ready to let that go.

Well, RemiRose paid for it, technically. Every last piece of it. Which is information only one person in my life has and that person is Lucy, so I know that’s exactly where it’s going to stay.

When I’d told Richard I liked my setup, he just nodded like he understood and then two weeks later there was a new desk chair outside my door with a sticky note that said ‘not gaming equipment, just furniture’ so I’d told him thank you and kept it.

He’s a really good man. His son apparently disagrees, but that’s not my business.

I only know the broad strokes of that relationship.

Richard has a son, Rio, he’s twenty-four years old but left at eighteen and hasn’t looked back since.

There was some kind of falling out, the details of which Richard has never offered and I’ve never asked for.

I do know that Richard still tries with him though.

Birthdays, holidays and the wedding invitation that came back unopened.

He doesn’t talk about it much but sometimes at dinner I catch him with his phone in his hand.

I can tell he wants to call his son, and for someone who has been such an amazing stepfather, it’s truly sad to see.

Rio is just a concept to me, a ghost in the background of a family I’m still figuring out how to belong to. Which is fine because some stories aren’t mine to be part of.

The Trapper catches me at the next exit and my character drops, and the chat loses their minds.

“Okay.” I pull my headset back slightly and rub one eye with the heel of my hand. “Okay, that one was on me, I will accept full responsibility, and I will not be taking questions.”

The chat is a wall of laughing emojis and I love them. I also need to eat something before I actually dissolve.

”Alright, that’s the stream,” I say, leaning towards the mic.

“Three hours, zero successful escapes, and an embarrassing performance that I will be thinking about at three in the morning for the next two weeks. You’re welcome for the content.

Don’t be weird in the VOD comments. I’ll see you next time. ”

I click off, pull my headset down around my neck, and the room goes quiet. My phone has been lighting up for the last twenty minutes.

I pick it up and it’s Lucy. Obviously. Eight texts in a row, firing them off one after another instead of just sending one message like a normal person. I’ve given up pointing it out though because it’s never gonna change.

Okay so frat party tonight

Kappa whatever their name is

The ones with the big ass backyard

You’re going

I’m not asking

I’m already picking out my outfit

Also I’m coming over early so we can get ready together

Remi I swear to god answer me

I was literally streaming. Yes I’m going and yes we can get ready together. What time?

YAAAYYYY

I’ll be there at nine

Does Richard have tequila? I finished yours

nine o’clock don’t be weird about it

I read through her texts twice and look at the time in the corner of my monitor.

Eight thirty-two.The party doesn’t even start until eleven but that gives me enough time to shower and figure out what I’m wearing before Lucy gets here.

I also need to eat whatever I can find in the kitchen without running into anyone and get my life together.

I stand up and stretch, arms over my head, and my back makes a sound that I’m going to ignore.

The LEDs are still cycling, purple to blue to that deep rose that washes everything pink for a second before moving on.

I grab a hoodie off the back of my chair and head for the door, already thinking about what’s in the fridge and whether I can get there and back with as little human interaction as possible.

Already, in the back of my head, I’m still thinking about Cold_Saint.

He was in my lobby again tonight for the third time this week with that same energy and playstyle.

I can’t tell if he’s targeting me on purpose or if the matchmaking algorithm just hates me personally.

I don’t know who he is aside from his username and somehow that’s just enough to be annoying as hell.

I hit the lights on the way out and the room goes dark behind me; the silence colder than air conditioning could ever be.